<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>with nothing to lose by Ingu</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225512">with nothing to lose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu/pseuds/Ingu'>Ingu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Double Agents, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:46:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu/pseuds/Ingu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Owen. Our Owen. The best damned spy this business has ever seen. A traitor?”</p><p>Something was beginning to click together in the back of Curt’s head, and his eyes grew wider and wider as he finally understood what Cynthia had been implying from the start.</p><p>“Have you never heard of deep cover?”</p><p>(The one where Curt makes a different choice, and (re)learns that in the world of espionage, things are never quite as they seem.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Who knew that I had a thing for sad gay cold war spies? I’m sure no one could have seen this coming. But here I am, out from under my rock because this is apparently my kryptonite.</p><p>The fic respects canon right up to the end of the confrontation scene. It is also unbetaed, so apologies in advance for the mistakes I know are in there.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>American Secret Service HQ, 1961</b>
</p><p>Curt knew the best thing for him to do was simply to quit before Cynthia made the call for him. </p><p>It was a respectful, responsible thing to do after the mess he made, even if it meant he had to first come face to face with the devil herself. Hell, just by showing up in her office he’d probably be fired on the spot. Or more likely, murdered on the spot. Among the gunshots and poison and all manner of tests Cynthia liked to weave into her briefings, if she wanted him dead Curt would be powerless to stop it. And Curt, heavy limbed, foggy brained, sore and miserable in more ways than one, was so damn exhausted he wasn’t sure he’d protest if it actually came to pass.</p><p>“Did you kill him?”</p><p>This was a familiar scene, Curt in that same uncomfortable chair, Cynthia with that same impatient fury writ on her face, cigarette in hand. Yet her top priority was not to threaten or abuse him. Curt, who had for the past two hours been mentally preparing himself for a thorough dressing down, could only react with stunned silence before his brain caught up. Now that the dust had settled, there was only one person that Cynthia would care enough to ask after.</p><p>“He got away,” Curt admitted, decidedly not making eye contact with his (soon to be ex) boss. Curt had spent a week chasing his former partner across Europe and he’d still managed to lose the man in Russia. He braced himself for her inevitable rage.</p><p>“Oh thank <em>God</em>.”</p><p>Curt started, his gaze snapping to Cynthia. “What?”</p><p>“At least you didn’t <em> completely </em> fuck everything up again,” Cynthia continued, stabbing her cigarette laden fingers toward him even as she sagged in visible relief. “It was just as well Owen managed to salvage some of that mess you made, and we got to take out a whole Chimera compound on top of it. There’s honestly never really been any question as to who the <em> real professional</em> is between you two.”</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Curt’s voice was small, confused. He might have found it in himself to be a little offended if it wasn’t for the fact that he couldn’t understand what Cynthia was saying. Cynthia spoke of Owen like nothing had changed, like Owen was still a favourite agent instead of the lunatic terrorist that he’d become.</p><p>Cynthia glanced at him with a look of disgust, and then did a double take when she saw the confusion on Curt’s face. “What? Why the fuck are you looking at me like that? Did you think we didn’t already have plans about Chimera? <em> Please</em>.” She rolled her eyes.</p><p>“I- You knew?”</p><p>“Curt, did you think this entire agency just sat around with our collective thumbs up our asses for the past four years like you did? Of course we knew, Chimera’s just one of over a dozen groups we’ve been keeping an eye on. Which you’d have realised if that space between your ears wasn’t fucking empty.”</p><p>“But…” Curt surged to his feet and leaned forward over the desk. “I… what does Owen have to do with this? He’s a traitor, he’s working for Chime-”</p><p>“Are you- Are you seriously doing this right now?” Cynthia’s contempt shifted into wide-eyed fury right before Curt’s eyes. “Owen. <em> Our Owen</em>. The best damned spy this business has ever seen. A <em> traitor</em>?”</p><p>Something was beginning to click together in the back of Curt’s head, and his eyes grew wider and wider as he finally understood what Cynthia had been implying from the start.</p><p>“Have you never fucking heard of deep cover?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Russian Weapons Facility, 2 days earlier</b>
</p><p>Curt's shot sent Owen’s gun clattering to the ground. And the enemy spy raised a hand to his head with an exasperated sigh.</p><p>This was Owen, his voice, his face, the shape of his long fingers, everything familiar to Curt in a way he had never known things could be before. Every day for the past four years, Owen Carvour had haunted him in dreams and in reality, on street corners and in crowds, in flickering glimpses of a love and a future Curt had sacrificed with his own recklessness and incompetence. But this man before Curt was like a monster in a mask, a mockery of all that was good and beautiful of Owen, of <em>his</em> Owen, all of it familiar yet completely unrecognizable at the same time.</p><p>“You know, killing me won’t take the system offline."</p><p>The same dark eyes, the same lilting accent. Curt tried desperately, in that moment, to glean anything of the man he had known, had <em> loved</em>, would have willingly died for. This was Owen, yet all Curt could see was simmering madness and cold calculation. The warmth, the affection, the trust, none of that existed anymore.  </p><p><em>Here’s some advice Curt</em>. <em> It’s called moving on.</em></p><p>Curt felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he recognized this, this grief, this rage, this helplessness inside of him.</p><p>“So Curt,” Owen said, “what are you doing?”</p><p>Owen was right, Curt thought. Owen had a habit of being right. And in but a second Curt's mind was made up. "Taking your advice.”</p><p>Curt aimed and squeezed the trigger. The crack of the gunshot thundered through the air, underlined by Owen’s scream of agony as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his ear.</p><p>Even with a possible burst eardrum, Owen still reacted like lightning, his leg sweeping out at Curt’s knees just as Curt lunged forward to take Owen out for good. With a heavy thump, Curt fell, losing grip of his gun as the metal stair edge sent pain jolting through his still-healing wound. Curt choked on a scream as the world flashed white. And it was all the opportunity Owen needed to scramble to his feet and dart up the stairs.</p><p>Taking gulping breaths to bring the pain under control, Curt pushed himself up with an angry growl and clumsily gave chase.</p><p>“Give it up, Owen!" Curt shouted. "You’re not getting away with this!”</p><p>They weaved in and out of rooms and hallways, Owen always frustratingly ahead as Curt struggled to not lose him in the complex. Owen was the one who brought them here, and he knew this facility better than Curt had any hope of, taking the lead as they tore through the floors. With each step he took, Curt could feel his injury pulling in his gut. He grit his teeth against the pain, blocking out everything but the sound of Owen’s pounding footsteps, closer, then further away, always infuriatingly ahead as they wound their way higher and higher.</p><p>Above Curt, there was the screeching creak of a metal door being forced open, and a rush of wind flowed past him as Owen burst through the roof access. Seconds later, Curt leapt up the final stairs and followed him into the open.</p><p>The air was outside crisp and cold, hitting Curt like a slap to the face as he desperately looked around. He was just in time to see Owen leaping from the rooftop, and Curt’s racing heart leapt to his throat before the sound of grinding reached his ears and he caught sight of the zipline. Owen’s figure was flying across to the distant building beneath, and Curt ground his teeth in frustration as he desperately tried to find a discarded piece of debris, some rope, anything that he could use to carry himself across as well.</p><p>He wasn’t fast enough. As Curt’s gaze scoured the seemingly empty roof, there was the sound of a snapping line, and he ran for the roof’s edge.</p><p>Owen was already on the other side of the yawning gap, and the zipline between them was swinging loosely below Curt. The distance between them was an impossible jump to make.</p><p>Watching Curt from the opposite roof, Owen flipped the knife in his hand with a practiced grace, the metal glinting in the moonlight. Curt’s heart seized at the familiarity of it, Owen always was a damned show off.</p><p>“Look, it’s been a lovely diversion, this little chase of ours,” Owen announced with a spread of his arms. His voice, breathless from exertion, carried through the chill air. “But I really don’t have time for any more of this.”</p><p>“You won’t have much time for anything when I catch you, Owen,” Curt shouted. He stood frozen in anger and impotent fury, wishing for his gun, for an unspent gadget, for <em> anything,</em> as he glared across the divide.</p><p>“Oh,” Owen made an exaggerated face of disappointment, “it’s okay, you’ve done your best. But I do have places to be, people to kill. You know how it is, old boy.”</p><p>Curt could see the flash of that familiar crooked smile. And Curt, his heart a rebellious, weak, useless thing, caught his breath at the sight of it.</p><p>“You’re not getting away with this, Owen!” He should have just killed him, Curt thought in wild anger. He should have simply killed him, ended it all. Moved fucking on. And now Owen was slipping away again.</p><p>“Except that’s exactly what I’ll be doing, my dear,” Owen said, as he backed away from the edge. “Getting away with it. Let’s pick this up some other time, shall we? I’ll be seeing you around.”</p><p>“Owen!”</p><p>Curt screamed, lunging forward in anger. But Owen was already hopping over the opposite edge, and then, he was gone.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>American Secret Service HQ</b>
</p><p>Curt had lost him, there on the roof of that Russian facility. And he had spent every hour since then hating himself for not shooting to kill, imagining the devastation that a man like Owen could cause if he remained on the loose. Curt had realised far too late that the encounter had been his best chance to kill Owen and end things for good, yet he had squandered it, wasted it, he-</p><p>“No,” Curt said, collapsing back into the chair. Unable, unwilling, not wanting to believe Cynthia’s words. If Owen had been on their side all along then why? Why the grandstanding? The torment? Why had he dragged Curt across half of Europe on that wild chase? Why risk his own life at Curt’s hand?</p><p>The answer was there, Curt could see it, could feel it, even if he couldn’t bring himself to voice it.</p><p>“But he shot me,” was the only thing Curt said, the slightest whine coloring his tone. “He <em>tortured</em> me.”</p><p>“Yeah, yet here you are.” Cynthia watched Curt boredly as he processed her words, looking almost disappointed. “Just imagine if he’d shot to kill instead.”</p><p>“What? No, he was about to kill me in Monte Carlo. It was Tatiana…”</p><p>Cynthia actually looked <em> proud, </em>her eyes crinkling as she looked into the distance. “Yeah...  talk about that Russian chick. You know, that’s the distinction between a good agent, and a truly <em> great </em> agent. The ability to plan, to manipulate others without them even realising it. <em> That </em> is talent.”</p><p>Curt gaped. Was Cynthia suggesting that Owen had… expected Tatiana to betray Von Nazi? He voiced as much to Cynthia.</p><p>“Well I don’t fucking know,” she snapped. “You were the one in the room, what do <em> you </em> think happened?”</p><p>If Cynthia was right, then it was Owen’s intention to keep Tatiana in the room during that initial interrogation, for him to learn about the ‘little birdies’. (<em>Well you fucking asked.) </em> Had he wanted Von Nazi to reveal his plans to Curt? (<em>Don’t forget about the castle.) </em> Wanted the maniac to make a fool of himself so Tatiana would realize that she was being played? (<em>Don’t get involved, love.) </em></p><p>Curt had always known Owen was <em> good</em>. But surely he couldn’t have- The chances of all of that was- He couldn't have predicted-</p><p>“But he was about to kill me. He did kill...”</p><p>“I’m assuming you’re not crying over dead criminals and Nazis. But, yes, well, our agent was an unfortunate loss." Cynthia said, waving her cigarette around. "I’m not happy about it, but we’ve made sacrifices before if it meant we could maintain an agent’s cover. Hell, I would have traded your life in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Owen’s cover intact.”</p><p>Curt’s expression turned blank. Cynthia glanced at him, and seemed to realize she’d perhaps gone too far.</p><p>“Curt, you’re four years out of touch, you fucked up the first mission I sent you on post-reinstatement, and completely disrespected the chain of command and caused an international diplomatic incident on top of that,” Cynthia stated, matter of fact. “In contrast, we have a deep cover operative with an <em> exemplary </em> record who has, for years, contributed intel about a dangerous global threat. Tell me, if you were in my place, who would you prefer to save?”</p><p>Curt lowered his head, this time, the shame was genuine. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out unthinkingly.</p><p>“Why the fuck would I tell <em> you, </em>Curt? People die all the damn time in this business. The fact that you don’t know how to keep your shit together and function like a regular human being is not my responsibility,” Cynthia said. “Owen could have just as easily died for good at any time over the past four years. I’m not going to threaten his cover when you'd probably just dig yourself back to rock bottom all over again if it happened."</p><p>Curt didn't have anything to say, memories of the past four years still vivid in his mind. </p><p>“When you told me you wanted to come back I thought you’d finally figured out how to compartmentalize, that I might finally have my best agent back,” said Cynthia. “And I told you, I <em>told you</em> that our world has changed, that things are more dangerous, that it's <em>different</em> now. But still you go recklessly charging off based on two bits of evidence you don’t even understand, ignoring direct orders from people who <em> know better than you.</em> Ever since you’ve come back, you’ve shown me nothing but arrogance, tunnel-vision, and a complete lack of respect. And you know what Mega? I’m just about fucking done with you. I paired you up with Owen in the past because he could temper that recklessness, and hell, somehow he still managed it even while undercover.”</p><p>“What?” Curt breathed in bewilderment. He had given up on fighting Cynthia’s logic, and fuck, if what she said was all true, then he probably did deserve everything she was saying to him right now. Barb had told him, back in that elevator, that he should heed Cynthia’s orders. <em> I need a win here, </em>he'd said. Curt winced as he remembered his selfishness, the arrogance in his own words. <em> Someone has to save the world and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can do it.</em></p><p>“Do you- is there- is there anything in that idiot head of yours? He laid out the entirety of Chimera’s plans and purpose to your little team just so you might choose to do something actually productive for once in your sorry life. Remember to thank him when you see him, by the way. God fucking knows when your tiny pea-brain might have pieced it all together on your own.”</p><p>
  <em> Inventors, entrepreneurs, politicians. </em>
</p><p>“He-” Curt remembered then, how in under five minutes Owen had given them more information than what a week-long interrogation should have offered.</p><p>
  <em> We call ourselves Chimera. </em>
</p><p>At the moment it had just seemed like the arrogant rant of a madman, showing off his plan, rubbing his smug self-superiority in Curt’s face.</p><p>
  <em> An advanced Nazi information surveillance network to collect and archive state secrets. </em>
</p><p>But Owen would have known better than that, he was a spy, he was among the best. Owen knew better than anyone the value of intelligence, of how precious information is.</p><p>
  <em> The largest wealth of pure unmined natural silicon the world has ever seen. </em>
</p><p>He could never have just given all of that away, not without a purpose, not without much more to gain than what others could see. Not with so many loose ends untied.</p><p>
  <em> The current system is as big as an entire warehouse, nay, a compound, filled with enormous computing consoles. And it takes up an entire island in the Pacific Ocean. </em>
</p><p>God, Owen had all but literally told them what they had to do, where they had to go.</p><p>
  <em> Perhaps you’ve destroyed that island facility, but what of the others? </em>
</p><p>Even in the Russian facility…? Was he…?</p><p>“Your job was only ever to retrieve the bomb, Mega,” Cynthia sighed. “If you’d had half a brain to follow your orders then we would never have had to assassinate the prince. We could have rescued him from Von Nazi, fucked over the Russians, and wouldn’t have ended up in this mess in the first place. Owen could have kept his status a secret.”</p><p>“You-” </p><p>Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Don’t fucking give me that look. You <em>lost us an alliance</em> and forced us into Plan B. Besides, this is <em>international politics.</em> Everyone fucking hated that inbred fool. They’d never say what they think, but in the end we sure did the New Democratic Repub… whatever, a service.”</p><p>“So…” Curt’s thoughts were skipping like a broken record. He’d barely slept at all this past week, had spent an entire red eye flight from Leningrad fuming and obsessing over what might happen at this meeting. But he hadn’t expected any of this. This was all too much. “If what you're saying is true. Then is Owen… still MI6? Or... is he... your agent?”</p><p>Cynthia actually smirked at that. “What, did you think I was kidding all those times I told him our door was always open?”</p><p>Curt just stared at her helplessly.</p><p>“I mean, don’t think I’m not fucking pissed at him.” Cynthia continued. “That boy had no authority to take you on the wild fucking chase that he did. But you know what? In comparison to the bullshit you pulled, I’m almost inclined to forgive him. I mean protocol aside, if you’d fucking left <em> me </em> to die on the floor of some filthy Russian compound, I’d come back from the dead to kill you myself. So be glad he didn’t. Kill you that is.”</p><p>It was a low blow, and Curt doubted Cynthia didn’t know it. He said nothing, not trusting his voice, not trusting his mind. How had everything become this complicated, this confusing, so fast? He thought he understood what had happened, he thought he had made sense of it all...</p><p>For a long time, Cynthia was also silent, scrutinizing him as she finished the last of her cigarette.</p><p>“You know what, Mega?” she said eventually. “I don’t even know what to fucking do with you. I let you back in because you used to be a good agent, and I thought I’d still get some use out of you, that I’d still get some of that old Curt Mega who could pull miracles out of his ass. Yet ever since you came back you’ve been acting like you’re the only man in the world who knows how to be a spy and the only one whose actions can matter. But let me tell you this, Mega. You don’t. You don’t fucking matter. You’re not the only man in the world who can get the job done and you are not the fucking messiah you like to pretend to be.”</p><p>Curt flinched. <em> Pretending to be a hero.</em> Owen’s condemnation echoed through Cynthia’s angry words.</p><p>“So here’s the deal.” Cynthia said, stubbing out her smoke that was starting to burn past its filter. “You’re going to fucking find Owen Carvour. <em> And you’re going to join him.” </em></p><p>“What?” It seemed like the only word Curt had in him left to say. Join Owen? Join... Chimera?</p><p>“This is your fucking mess, Mega. You’re the one who risked his cover so you're going to help him finish the job. I’m sure it’ll be just like old times.”</p><p>“I- I can’t.” Curt stuttered. “He <em> hates </em> me.”</p><p>“So he clearly still cares about you,” Cynthia sing-songed. “Great. Use that to your advantage. I’m not here to give you lessons on how to be a spy. Figure it the fuck out.”</p><p>“Is that…” Curt almost choked. “Is that an order?”</p><p>“Order? I’m not fucking ordering you to do anything. You don’t work here anymore. Did you think you could go rogue and fuck with the World Peace Gala with zero consequences? You’re fucking fired. I don’t know shit about you infiltrating a criminal organization to bring down one of the biggest threats to freedom the world has ever seen.”</p><p>Disavowed. The implications of Cynthia's words settled around Curt's shoulders with the weight of a pillory. Though he had intended to quit when he walked into this office today, the cold brutality of Cynthia’s words still somehow felt like a stab in the back.</p><p>“Now get the fuck out of my sight. Mega. This meeting never happened.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love Curt, but the show being a parody means that a lot of his reactions are deeply questionable when examined seriously. It’s fun to play with for the sake of drama and angst. Let's see how far I can take this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Posting on the same day that Animal Crossing came out was, admittedly, a mistake. I have overshot my imagined weekly update schedule by a mile, but better late than never, right? </p><p>I have also been steadily editing the first chapter over the past week and it now has some embellishments and fixes here and there (what even is American spelling). I will likely be doing the same to this part, but for now, I hope you enjoy a chapter of confused, angsty Curt.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>American Secret Service Safehouse</b>
</p><p>Eleven hours of blessed, dreamless unconsciousness; a cold shower; and two sandwiches later; Curt was still having trouble making sense of it all. As he chewed on a third peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he stared blankly at the peeling paint wall of the rundown safehouse, replaying the events of the last few weeks in his mind over and over again. The haze was finally starting to lift now there was food in his belly, but it didn’t make all of it any easier to stomach. </p><p>Revelation one: Owen was still alive. Owen was not dead. Not in any literal sense at least, dramatic hyperboles notwithstanding. Curt’s had more than a week now to come to terms with that, not that he has, not that anything felt easier with this knowledge. Whatever excitement, relief, whatever bubbly emotion that may have called hope that may have arisen from the fact had been rapidly drowned in derision and violence. And Curt was left with nothing but the brutal recognition of the fact that-</p><p>Revelation two: Owen hated, no, loathed him. Not that any of it was surprising, or the slightest bit undeserving. It had been one thing for Curt to wallow in his own guilt and grief, each condemnation self-imposed, imagined, ultimately self-serving. But to come face to face with Owen and to have that same vitriol spoken to him by the voice he had spent every agonising second of the past four years missing, by that face he would have given anything to see again. Curt felt like he’d been sucker-punched back to 1957, and all he had to do was close his eyes and he’d be back there on that catwalk, staring at the end of his hopes and dreams.</p><p>Revelation three: Owen was…</p><p>Owen was <em> not </em> a traitor.</p><p>He was still a villain, Curt felt justified in that claim as the victim of extensive torture at the man’s hand. Whether or not Owen was mad, whether or not Curt deserved it… Curt had felt Owen’s intent to kill, that night in the chair, the machete blade digging into his neck. None of Owen’s delight or rage in that moment was pretend, no matter how fake his accent or his cover. Owen had changed into something terrifying, someone Curt didn’t know if he could trust.</p><p>Yet they were… not on opposite sides.</p><p>With Curt’s particular profession, he was no stranger to earth-shaking revelations. But right now he felt like he was well over quota for an entire lifetime.</p><p>Deep cover agent. As much as it hurt Curt, he believed it. Even if too many questions still burned at the back of his mind, enough of Cynthia’s story made sense. All the times Owen had let Curt escape, the information he’d leaked left, right, and centre. Taking on a mission like this, it would be just like Owen, who had always loved a starring undercover role, where he could play his characters and flaunt his accents, delight in that dramatic reveal. And to thrive on the inside of a secret, powerful organization like Chimera? That was incredible, that was something only someone like Owen (and probably Curt) could achieve.</p><p>Outside, a car honked, and Curt sighed, glancing down at his suddenly flavourless sandwich before he took the final bites. God, he had royally fucked up, hadn’t he? If he hadn’t gone rogue, the prince would be still alive, he’d still have his job, and Owen… he would never have known Owen was still alive.</p><p>Cynthia’s revelation had answered just as many questions as it had created. It stood to reason that Owen was likely how Cynthia knew about the bomb deal to begin with. But why involve Tatiana? How did Owen survive? Did he ask for Curt to be on the mission? How is he working for American Intelligence? Why did he never contact Curt? Had he known what Curt had done to himself over the past years? Had he… been happy to see Curt crash and burn? Curt’s thoughts spun around and around in circles until he didn’t know what he was feeling. Embarrassment, relief, anger, bewilderment, excitement, grief, everything was a confusing cocktail that left nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth.</p><p>Curt didn’t know what to make of it. Whether there was still something left of that old Owen, the Owen he had known and loved so deeply. Whether it meant Curt was every bit the dumb, worthless, impulsive, arrogant asshole that Cynthia painted him out to be for not having connected the dots himself. Whether he could afford to… hope, that something positive may come of this clusterfuck of a situation he’d landed himself in.</p><p>Curt closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. He forced himself to stop thinking, to stop<em> dwelling </em>. Overthinking wasn’t going to help him now. He still had allies, and he had an objective, he knew… for better or worse, enough of the facts to move forward. And the skeleton of a plan was forming in his head.</p><p>Dusting the crumbs from his hands, he got up, grabbed his coat and gear, and headed for the door. </p><p>Agent Curt Mega had a mission to complete.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Barbara’s Apartment</b>
</p><p>Curt’s arrival in Barbara’s apartment was, when he later reflected on it, possibly one of his least elegant attempts at infiltration.</p><p>The young tech had grown to be a friend over the course of the last disaster of a mission, and Curt’s four-year self-imposed exile having turned all of his old work friendships stale. Right now, Barbara was the closest thing Curt had to a connection on the inside. She also conveniently lived only in a first floor apartment less than twenty mintes away. With Curt’s expertise, it had been easy enough to locate the building. (In particular, Barbara had on more than one occasion given Curt her number and address, telling him to drop by ‘any time’ with a decidedly salacious wink.) Then, all he had to do was climb the exterior, and shimmy open the cracked window.</p><p>It had been late enough and dark enough that night for Curt to justify his stealth entrance. Except half way inside, Barbara had spotted him in his all-black outfit and immediately began to scream as she grabbed a baseball bat and started swinging. In the panicked hysteria that followed, Curt desperately assured her that yes, it was just Curt and no, she was not about to be murdered. It didn't stop Barbara from getting several good hits in before recognition finally hit her.</p><p>“Oh my God, Curt?”</p><p>The baseball bat stopped mid-sing, and Curt, after a frozen second of mortal fear, used the opportunity to go from cowering to closing the window behind him and pulling shut the curtains. Patches of pain burned along his arms and shoulders, pain from what will soon become very nasty bruises. God, the woman was stronger than she looked.</p><p>“Barb, hey!” Curt inelegantly unfolded to his full height. “I just uh, thought I’d drop by, I need to talk to you.” </p><p>“You could have used the front door!” Barbara said, still more than a little hysterical as she tossed the bat aside. She was dressed in a green robe and fluffy slippers, her hair a chaotic halo around her head. “God, I thought you were some sort of rapist!”</p><p>“Look I- I’m sorry.” Curt said, flailing just a little for Barbara to keep her voice down. “I don’t usually climb into... women’s apartments. I just couldn’t risk anyone knowing I’ve come to visit you.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well, for one, think of how that’d look. A young, single woman, getting a gentleman caller in the middle of the night? People would talk.”</p><p>“Well,” Barbara shrugged, “is that really<em> bad? </em> I mean if it was <em> you </em> I-”</p><p>“And second,” Curt rushed on before she could finish that particular thought, his voice breaking just a little. “I… don’t technically work with you anymore.”</p><p>“What? Oh Curt…” Barbara breathed, her face falling in sympathy. “Don’t tell me Cynthia…”</p><p>“Fired me, yeah,” Curt snapped, defensive. “But listen, Barb, you’re still on the inside.” Then, a moment of sudden and paralyzing doubt. “Right?” </p><p>“What? Oh. Yes! I mean, Cynthia told me off and I was super scared at the start but then she said my work was too impor-”</p><p>“Fantastic!” Curt grinned widely. “Then I have work for you.”</p><p>They settled on Barbara’s living room couch. In broad strokes, Curt recounted the events of the last week to the young tech, explaining the chase and the confrontation while leaving out the more embarrassing and compromising details. Barbara listened with wide eyes, slipping closer and closer toward him as he talked. Curt pressed himself tighter and tighter into the armrest.</p><p>“Chimera, Owen…” Curt said at the end of his perhaps too dramatic recount. “They’re still out there, and I know that I’m not technically a spy anymore, but I... <em> we </em> still have a job to do.”</p><p>Barbara was, once she had calmed down, dependable as always. Persuading her to lend her assistance and expertise was easy, even if he had to less than elegantly sidestep her very clear and aggressive interest.</p><p>“Will you help me, Barb?” Curt said with his saddest, most imploring puppy eyes. Once upon a time, it could make Owen cave without fail and do things Curt's way.</p><p>Barbara, with even less resistance, positively melted, her eyes going soft as she smiled in infatuation. “I’d be honored. Anything for you.”</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it,” Curt said. He finally felt something of his old self, here in front of Barbara, who treated him with the same idolatry she always did. Though he had left out the most damning parts of the entire tale, the fact of his failures didn’t shake the young woman’s faith in him in the slightest. It was empowering, to be reminded that he didn’t have to be defined by his failures.</p><p>“And, uh, how’s everything going for you?” Curt stumbled on. Barbara was taking on an enormous risk for him by agreeing, and though Curt knew she wouldn’t get into any real trouble as his mission had Cynthia’s implied approval, Barbara didn’t know it. After everything she’d done for him, he knew that she deserved better than his usual dismissiveness.</p><p>At his prompt, the young woman lit up, and excitedly launched into a story about her department’s new merger and the opportunities arising in her field.</p><p>“I have so many new project ideas,” Barb rambled enthusiastically. “Especially with the new advancements in satellite technology, I mean just think about it. We already track our satellites via the radio transmissions, but what if we could reverse the process? I mean, with proper observation and analysis of the Doppler effect, you could proba-” Then, she sucked in a breath in surprised realization. “Oh. Oh no, I’m sorry, this must all be terribly boring.”</p><p>“No! This is… interesting!” Curt said, slightly wild eyed but with a smile that didn’t feel entirely forced. “I mean, I’ve honestly always been impressed with your work, the cool gadgets you come up with?” He stumbled around for the right word. “Awesome!”</p><p>Barbara brightened even more at his praise. “Oh Curt… Oh gosh darn it… I’m going to miss you so much!”</p><p>She threw herself into Curt’s arms, and Curt wrapped his arms around her as she squeezed him in a tight hug.</p><p>“You’re not just saying that, are you?” Barbara said as she withdrew, looking genuinely uncertain.d</p><p>Curt felt a part of him soften with guilt, knowing that he’d never quite shown her department the respect that they probably deserved. “Of course! I mean, Tatiana told me how you found that island with the compound! Without you we’d probably still be bumbling around the Pacific Ocean.” He laughed awkwardly, then paused as he reconsidered what he’d just said.</p><p>“Oh! Yeeeeah...” Barbara smiled bashfully, wiggling her shoulders. “I suppose I did.”</p><p>“You know, Barb,” Curt said, the lightness in his voice a little forced as the question rose inside his chest. “I don’t think I ever asked, how <em> did </em> you manage to find the right island?” He was every bit the impressed, approving agent, and the young tech straightened at his question.</p><p>“Well, it’s not like it was <em> hard </em>,” Barbara said. “I’d actually already been researching locations that fit the exact criteria Tatiana gave me. So when she ca-”</p><p>“What?” His tone was harsher than Curt meant for it to be. “What do you mean you were <em> already </em>researching islands?”</p><p>“Well, remember when I was talking to you about how the future of espionage might be in technology? I mean there’s been so much talk about it in our department I ended up raising it with Cynthia when she came by our office a few months ago? And she was so amazingly supportive! We were talking about data collection and archival and she said I should look into some location options. And <em> everyone </em> agrees that uninhabited islands would be perfect-”</p><p>More out of habit than intention, Barbara’s excited rambling faded into white noise in Curt’s ears. Cynthia. Cynthia had asked Barbara to research islands months ago. She <em>had</em> known about Chimera’s facilities. It was one thing to hear her say it but for Barbara to unknowingly corroborate... Knowing what he did now about Owen’s undercover work, Chimera had to be the real reason for her interest. It made complete sense, yet Curt still found himself surprised by the depth of work that had already gone on behind the scenes without his knowledge. <em> (Did you think this entire agency just sat around with our collective thumbs up our asses for the past four years?) </em></p><p>God he’d… really really fucked up, assuming he knew best.</p><p>“-and actually I’ve been focusing on looking into more islands since Tatiana blew that facility up. Did you know there’s actually a lot more that have mystery compounds on them?”</p><p>“I…” Curt snapped back to the conversation. (<em> You’ve destroyed that island facility, but what of the others? </em>) “Have you reported this to Cynthia?”</p><p>“Well, not yet. I’m still finalising the list but I’m pretty confident about at at least <em> two </em> of them. I'm pretty sure the size and layout are just like the one in that you guys destroyed and that can’t be merely a coincidence.”</p><p>“You need to tell her, if they’re Chimera compounds then she needs to know about them, and we need to take them out.”</p><p>“Yeah I can do that! I mean, I was going to report to her next week anyway, I thought a day or two wouldn’t make that much of a difference, you know?”</p><p>Curt did his best to reassure her, and to thank her for her help. But speaking with Barbara, he could feel his own distraction as he pictured the conversations that must have taken place without him knowing. When had Owen notified Cynthia? How long had they known about the network, the compounds? Three months? Six? Even longer?</p><p>Then he remembered himself six months ago, miserable, drunk, barely beginning to pull himself back together after years in a downward spiral. </p><p>He had to fix this. Curt was going to fix this. He wasn’t that pathetic man anymore. He was a spy. And he was going to take down Chimera.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>American Secret Service Safehouse</b>
</p><p>Out on his own for good, it took barely forty-eight hours for Curt to start missing agency resources. And it wasn’t just the surprisingly good cafeteria food back in HQ, or the fun gadgets he got to play around with, but the part where analysts would comb through files and reports and make little summaries that Curt could simply <em>choose</em> to ignore. </p><p>It was well and good for Cynthia to announce that Curt had to track down Owen and join his criminal group, but it didn’t mean that Curt had the faintest idea where the man was. Losing Owen’s trail for good back in Russia had been the only reason he’d returned to Cynthia with his tail between his legs. Because God knew Curt had been ready to chase his old partner to the other end of the Earth if that was what it took to bring him to justice. </p><p>Now it was just embarrassing to think back on all of the moral grandstanding he’d done along that chase. <em> If you agree to give up Chimera- </em>  <em>Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't believe we're making a difference</em>. Curt must have looked like a fool.</p><p>It had been days since their confrontation in Russia. Owen could be anywhere in the world by now, and it was pointless for Curt to try and pick up where he’d left off. So with a shortage of leads, Curt started his investigation by looking into the ‘Deadliest Man Alive’. He’d never bothered to read the brief he'd been given before he flew off to Monte Carlo in what felt like a different lifetime. Now he was paying for it.</p><p>With Barbara’s help, the complete case file on the man was delivered to Curt two days later in a suitcase. And it was thick enough that it took Curt eleven beers and a bottle and a half of whiskey to get through. It didn’t help that the man had over eleven hundred attributed kills, or that the more Curt stared at the mountain of paper, the more he wanted to light it all on fire and maybe end his own existence along the way. There were many reasons why he’d chosen a field career, and avoiding <em> this </em> had been high on that list.</p><p>What was interesting, once Curt had skimmed his way, stop-start, in agony, through the first few dozen pages, was that the man had in fact been active since the early ‘50s. Several of the murders and incidents had happened at times when Curt <em>knew </em>Owen had been in his company, which meant that at one point, this ‘Deadliest Man’ must have been an entirely separate person. Curt caught himself breathing easier at the revelation, realizing that just a small part of him had worried that the formidable body count was actually Owen’s. Though when he thought about it, he doubted their own figures were low, considering the carnage that could be left in their wake when missions inevitably went sour.</p><p>A few hundred pages later, Curt had pieced most of the story together. The ‘Deadliest Man Alive’ had come to prominence as a mercenary in the mid 50s and then earned his moniker around the same time Curt ‘retired’. Curiously, the murder of young women had stopped altogether from mid-1960 onward. From about April, the focus of the violence turned toward rivals and criminals - fellow mercenaries, arms dealers, human traffickers, all scum of the earth types few would miss. Curt could only suppose that was when Owen had taken over the identity. Had he killed the original? Curt suspected, even hoped so. The contrast in behaviour was so stark it was clear that Owen never had any intention of staying true to character, despite his dramatics about ‘researching and rehearsing a role to perfection’.</p><p>It was reassuring, confusing even, to think that some of <em> his </em> Owen might still be there beneath all of the cruelty Curt had witnessed and endured. That perhaps Owen was using his cover identity to do a little bit of good, ridding the world of evil men like von Nazi.</p><p>What was he doing now? As the days passed by and the safehouse grew into an increasingly chaotic fire hazard, Curt's thoughts revolved around little else but Owen, drifting back to his former love again and again whether Curt wanted to or not. Would he be expecting Curt? Was Owen looking for him too?</p><p>There would be no immediate answers, but Curt was ready to work for them. The file had given Curt a handful of leads and locations to look into. And Curt had to bet on the fact that the identity was too useful, too well-established, for Owen to just simply toss aside. More than anything, Curt had the feeling that Owen wanted to be found. All Curt had to do was find the 'Deadliest Man Alive', and he would find Owen Carvour.</p><p>He just had no fucking idea what he was going to do after.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had really hoped to have a bit more to this part but then the word count ballooned over my target of 3k, so the final canon-referencing revelations will show up in the next part. </p><p>I mean, nothing in canon explictly /excludes/ the possibility that Owen could have been an undercover agent. All he sings about in One Step Ahead is about how he's better and how Curt is blind without a clue. So, just reading between the lines here.</p><p>I hope the chapter was entertaining. Please don't hesitate to leave me your thoughts below, it is wonderful fuel knowing that what people are thinking.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Watch me twist canon every possible way to fit my ideal narrative.</p><p>You can find me on tumblr at <a href="https://ingu.tumblr.com/">ingu</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>